


And When You Move

by bar2d2s



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bootblacking, I latch onto niche kinks like a barnacle to a boat, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 04:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19099753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bar2d2s/pseuds/bar2d2s
Summary: Bucky was chosen for war, Steve was denied the opportunity to fight. But there are many things a body can do to aid in the effort...uniform upkeep, for instance.





	And When You Move

The knowledge that Bucky was going off to war while he was stamped with yet another 4-F was awful, slowly growing into unbearable. The first time had been the worst.

“C’mon Stevie, you can’t get mad at me!” Bucky had begged him, pleaded through the bathroom door after he’d gotten his draft letter. Steve had already tried to enlist twice, and Bucky was just… _chosen_. It wasn’t fair.

“You don’t even _want_  to go over!” Steve shot back, tone accusatory. “They’ll have to _drag_  you to basic!”

“Only ‘cause I’ll be smuggling some 90-pound punk in my duffle, who’ll be primed and ready to kick the snot out of any Nazi that comes his way, once he’s done with his asthma attack!”

Silence reigned, until Steve opened the door. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“The hell I wouldn’t. How am I supposed to ship out without you, huh? Ain’t nobody out there I’d rather have watching my back, and you know it.” The admission got them through Bucky’s basic training, and another three rejections for Steve.

And then Bucky came home.

They’d cropped his hair a little too close to his skull, and Steve took a sadistic sort of pleasure in pointing out just how odd it looked.

“Laugh it up, pipsqueak, just think of how _you'll_  look when the army barber gets his hands on you.”

Bucky always talked like that, like Steve was gonna be right behind him when he headed out to the front lines. It gave him hope.

“Wanna see what we’ll be wearing?”

The army had sent Bucky home with fatigues as well as a dress uniform, which made him look almost too handsome to bear.

“Yeah yeah, very pretty. Now go put on the other one, I wanna see what my buddy the hero is gonna look like.”

This was, Steve would later realize, a mistake.

He had seen the fatigues in Bucky’s bag, seen them laid out on their bed, but to actually see Bucky _in_  them was a very different experience. They were the same age, give or take a few months, and yet all of a sudden, Bucky was an adult, and Steve felt like he’d been left behind. Bucky hadn’t even gone anywhere yet, and he was already leaving Steve behind.

“That bad, huh?” Bucky asked, watching Steve’s face fall as he came out of the bedroom. Steve shook his head.

“You look great, Buck. Real army material. Nazis are gonna see you and run the other way.”

Suddenly, Bucky was in his space. “Yeah? So why’s it look like _you're_  gonna run the other way, huh?” Steve’s face fit entirely too well against the expanse of Bucky’s chest, nose pressed to a shiny brass button.

“How am I expected to stay here while you’re going over there?”

Thin walls and nosy neighbors made for an awkward time on most days, but this was just the worst.

“Stevie,” Bucky said quietly. “Baby. Come on. You don’t have to be a soldier to help the war effort. They’re always looking for volunteer nurses and-“

Steve stomped down as hard as he could onto one of Bucky’s new boots. Bucky yelled, in equal parts pain and annoyance. Not at Steve, never at Steve, but at the world. At the war. At the shitty polish he’d used on his boots, which apparently couldn’t even stand up to the worn sole of a leather shoe.

“Aw, c’mon! I just shined these!” He complained, and Steve stiffened where he stood.

Bucky’s boots were standard-issue. Brown leather, went to midway up his calf. Solid, sturdy, good for marching. The left one now sported a large scuff.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, and Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. Steve didn’t apologize for things like that, and even when he did, he certainly didn’t do it like… _that_.

“Yeah? How sorry?” Bucky asked, every step he took closely followed by Steve’s eyes. “Sorry enough to re-shine ‘em?”

That hit a nerve, the whine practically dragged out of Steve’s throat. “Gonna take that as a yes. The polish is still in my duffle, go get it.”

It felt strange, forbidden even, to order Steve around like this. Steve _never_  followed orders which, if he was being completely honest, would probably make him a shitty soldier. But in the here and now, he was listening to Bucky, and that was _incredible_.

Before Steve returned with the polish, Bucky settled himself on their one comfortable chair. They’d spent many a night in this chair, listening to the radio or reading the paper, Steve curled up on his lap. It physically pained him to imagine Steve sitting in their chair alone while he was away.

And then Steve was in front of him, sleeves rolled up his skinny forearms to the elbow, almost panting with tightly-wound desire.

“Get a stool at least!” Bucky groaned as Steve dropped to his knees, sitting on his heels. But Steve shook his head, and the cleaning began.

Bucky had honestly thought that Steve would just buff out the scuff, but apparently the things a kid would do for a nickel never really left him.

Steve inspected his boots thoroughly, checking for cracks and loose threads. When he was satisfied that there were none, he unlaced them both, taking the damp rag he’d brought with him and scrubbing them down. There was more dirt on them than Bucky had expected there to be. Once Steve was finished, he pulled out a tin of polish that was _not_  from Bucky’s duffle.

“Now where did you get that..?” Bucky asked, biting off his words with a soft gasp as Steve went to work. He massaged the polish in with surprisingly strong hands, taking stock of the noises Bucky made above him. The sun was setting by the time Steve was happy with his work, and Bucky’s legs felt like jelly. He was certain Steve’s own legs had to be asleep as well, but he didn’t say anything. Steve relaced his boots, patted the spot he’d stomped, and the spell was broken.

“The hell was that about?” Bucky all but cackled, while Steve’s angry flush spoke for him. “Not that I didn’t like it, mind, but still!” He hauled Steve up by the armpits, ignoring his complaints, and settled him down on his lap. “Stevie…anyone ever tell you that you’re one in a million?”

Yeah, Steve thought, the draft board. “Just you, Buck.” He replied, pressing a few kisses into the crook of Bucky’s neck, where the uniform didn’t cover.

Jelly legs recovered, Bucky scooped up Steve, kicking the bedroom door closed behind them.

He wasn’t off to war just yet.


End file.
